


Wriggle and Sway

by blue_jack



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Crack, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having tentacles wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wriggle and Sway

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, [](http://therumjournals.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://therumjournals.livejournal.com/)**therumjournals**!

Chris stirred the ice in his drink, wondering if he should head home. Having tentacles, he mused as he looked around the packed bar once more, wasn't everything it was cracked up to be.

Sure, the sex was good—okay, the sex was _great_ —but it wasn't like he could have sex all the time, no matter what his tentacles thought. And the fuckers totally had minds of their own, getting him into trouble when he was working because they got bored of waiting around for something interesting to happen. If it wasn't someone threatening sexual harassment because they'd made obscene gestures or patted someone’s ass, then it was getting cornered in bathrooms or in the parking lot by people who'd thought he'd been making a pass at them, but really, it'd just been the tentacles having a little bit of fun. Which, sometimes was kind of cool, but mostly was just annoying after a long day.

And then there were the times when someone he had slept with would come by his house or call him at work, desperate for another go because he or she couldn't stop thinking about him. And yeah, okay, that was pretty awesome in its own way, but he wasn't a sex machine, and it didn't matter how much Mark from accounting begged or how many clothes he took off—wow, Mark had been working out since the last time they’d had sex. And damn, he hadn't been kidding. That erection looked painful. And that was after masturbating five times yesterday? Aw, what the hell. He’d always been a softie for a pair of pretty brown eyes.

Where was he?

Oh, right. So being a sex god was all well and good, but did anyone consider the downside of having tentacles? Sure, he could get like five different people off at once, six if it were a really good day, but he bet no one thought about how many shirts he went through in one month. The little buggers didn’t like being confined. He’d even tried to get some custom made shirts with holes included for his tentacles, but they could get thicker and thinner depending on temperature, mood, what have you, and he’d alternated between being too cold or feeling like the shirt was choking him.

And the lotion! His tentacles were prone to getting dry, so he had to lotion them every day. Every fucking day. People always gave him strange looks when they came over to his house for the first time and saw the bottles everywhere.

Some of which was justified, he’d admit it, because ever since the tentacles had grown in, his sex drive had increased by like a hundred-fold. Although seriously, he wasn’t that cheap that he wouldn’t pony up for actual lube (though he kept the extra cases of _that_ stored in his closet, otherwise the looks would be a lot worse).

He’d never had that much trouble picking up partners, but it was even easier now, which was nice on the one hand, but it made it difficult to figure out if someone were really interested in him for _him_ , or if he or she was just a kinky bitch. And he’d never thought he’d complain about feelings or the lack thereof during sex, but that was what his life had become apparently, with him moaning about how no one wanted to just cuddle anymore. Not to mention how tired he was all the time. Staying up into the wee hours of the morning having athletic and debauched sex was hell on his sleep cycle.

Back in the TBT (Time Before Tentacles), he’d have sex once, maybe twice a month if he weren’t dating anyone. Now it was more like twice a week if he could get away with it, three times if the tentacles were feeling particularly demanding. He’d tried to wean them down to one, but that had resulted in a fantastic but really, really weird masturbation session that he could never quite decide if he wanted to repeat.

It would’ve been a whole lot easier on his life if the tentacles didn’t get bored with the same partner after a few repetitions. They’d still participate, but their performance would be distinctly lackluster, and the need for sex didn’t abate. It had earned him quite the reputation, but what was a tentacle be-ridden guy supposed to do?

Chris sighed, standing up. It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten plenty of offers just while he’d been sitting at the bar, and there’d even been a few people that he wouldn’t have minded heading home with on any other day, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

“Shit! What the—?”

He looked toward the voice, having learned that random curses were almost invariably his tentacles’ fault. And sure enough, there was a guy with his shirt soaking wet from the contents of what used to be his drink, one of Chris’ tentacles waving guiltily in the air.

“Aw, fuck,” Chris said, stepping closer to get a better look at the damage, even as he used his hand to pull the culprit back. “Sorry, man. I totally wasn’t paying attention to what they were doing. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning—”

“Don’t worry about it,” the other guy said, smiling ruefully as he surveyed his top. “It was already ruined. I spilled another drink on myself earlier. Just . . . not quite so much.”

And it was true. His front was soaked, which made Chris wince. Although it did show off a portion of his chest to quite nice effect, which more than compensated for the money he was going to have to dish out as far as Chris was concerned.

“No, really. I insist. These things get me into trouble all the time.” He started to pull out his wallet, only stopping when his arm bumped against one of the tentacles, all four reaching forward to tug at the wet shirt. “Oh, shit, sorry ‘bout that—woah, _woah_!” he cried, taking a few steps back when they tried to go _under_ the clinging fabric. They started to wave in the air in agitation, and he could feel himself flushing at the complete lack of control. They had never been so blatant in what they’d wanted before. “Er . . . would you believe they’ve never done that before?” he asked, trying to will them to behave.

“Right. I bet you say that to all the boys,” he heard, the voice dry, but when Chris glanced up, he could tell he was amused.

“Only to the cute ones,” he replied, more out of habit than any real intent. But the longer he looked, the more he began to think his tentacles had the right idea. Dark, wavy hair; attractive features that weren’t quite perfect, which made him all the more interesting in Chris’ opinion; lean, fit body . . . yeah, there was nothing to complain about as far as he was concerned.

“Please tell me that isn’t your best pick up line,” the guy said in a pained voice, but it seemed to Chris that he wanted to smile.

“Afraid so.” Chris shrugged, purposefully making his tentacles shift. “I admit I’ve gotten rusty. Most people take one look at me and think about all the incredibly perverted things I can do to them. Pick up lines have kind of become a thing of the past.”

“Well, you’ll have to do better with me,” he said, but he took a step closer, causing Chris’ tentacles to reach toward him once again. Chris could tell by the intrigued expression on his face that he wouldn’t have to try _much_ harder, his words to the contrary aside.

“I can do that,” Chris informed him, shortening the distance between them a bit more, so his tentacles could just barely brush over his arm. “My name’s Chris by the way.”

“I don’t normally give my real name to people who use such cheesy lines, but what the hell; it's been an odd night. Zach.”

Chris shivered as Zach hesitantly touched him with the tips of his fingers, startled by how good it felt. His tentacles hadn’t felt that sensitive since the first few months right after he’d gotten them.

“Can I buy you a drink, Zach, since I cost you your last one?”

“Still pretty mediocre, Chris,” Zach said, shaking his head, although he was smiling openly then. “But I won’t turn down the free drink.”

“Oh, come on. I could’ve said we should head back to my place in order to get you out of those wet clothes. I should at least get some points for restraining myself.”

“Alright, I’ll give you a few. But considering you started by dumping my glass on me, that still means you’re in negative territory.”

"Ah. Yeah, there is that," he replied, wincing.

Chris followed Zach as he began the hunt for two seats together, surprised by the rush of anticipation he felt at the thought of talking—actual talking—to Zach some more before hopefully taking him back to his apartment. He hadn’t been that excited to get to know someone for a long time. And to think, it had been his tentacles that had forced the introduction. Maybe having tentacles wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
